Hey Stranger
by Amateur Sleeper
Summary: Jackson wonders where he stands with his friends now that they have left the island. An old friend returns and causes Jackson to feel conflicted over his life decisions and who he is-- Cody or Jackson.
1. Chapter 1

Despite the euphoria of being rescued, the plane ride itself was lackluster. Despite the excitement, no one dared to speak. To speak would jinx the rescue, and the longer they didn't speak the closer they would be to home.

One of the pilots turned on the intercom, "Alright, kids. We will be landing in about twenty minutes. I suggest you put your seat belts on."

No one moved. Each of his or her seatbelts was already in place, untouched. They looked around nervously. Except one.

Cody Jackson just continued to stare out the window, his face and body placid and relaxed. His mind was a different story.

"_What is going to happen to me when I get back? Will I be charged? Arrested again? Will they wait for all of that?" Cody silently thought. "I suppose everyone else is excited to get away, but I kind of miss." He then noted how he would never tell anyone of this thought._

For the first time since the plane ride from the Philippines, Jackson's attention was caught. The representative from the airline was a pretty lady, in her forties that commanded attention when she spoke, yet had a calm and reserved look about her. Her name was Marcia Thomas.

"Alright, now when you all get off the plane you will see that there are a lot of reporters who are going to ask you questions. Now you don't have to answer them just yet, but the sooner you do the sooner you will get it over with. Any questions?" In unison, they shook their heads. "Good, and on behalf of the pilot, welcome back to L.A."

The military plane had landed and eagerly the survivors parted down, rushing to safe land. Across the airstrip were their parents, friends, family.

"Dad, Mom!" were frequently shown as were hugs and tears.

Jackson, Melissa, and Lex were the only ones who didn't immediately go. Jackson knew they were standing waiting for permission to see their family. He was closest to those to on the island, and he knew they were waiting to introduce him to their families.

"Hey… Jackson why don't you come and meet my family? I'm sure they would love to meet you," said Melissa.

Jackson looked down and realized she was holding his hand. He smiled. "No, go say hello, _then_ I will. I don't really expect anyone to be here for me anyway."

Melissa gave him a surprised look. "Really?"

"Honestly, I don't know." She gave him a hesitant look. "Really, go."

Melissa then ran down, smiling back at Jackson to meet her parents.

Honestly, Jackson hadn't thought that anyway would show. Why would they? After what had happened he couldn't blame them. Maybe a friend from the past, an unknown relative… Now he was getting his hopes up.

Lex was staring up at Jackson.

"Well, Lex, why are you here? Go say hello!" Jackson said, trying to cover up his sadness with overexcitement.

"Because they will be there in five minutes. I just wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"That no matter what happens here, I want you to know that I am your friend. Anything you need, you just ask," Lex said.

A beat of silence, of taking it in. Then rather suddenly, "Did I ever tell you I always wanted a brother?" asked Lex.

With a smile, Jackson answers, "No, you didn't."

"It's funny you see because after my dad died, I thought I would never get one. Then my mother remarried and I thought that I would at least get a step-brother, but I got Daley, which is great, don't get me wrong. But I always wanted a brother," Lex said excitingly.

"I guess you have one now. Now go." Lex gave Jackson a hug and ran off to see his family.

Jackson walked down the strip slowly, taking this in. There was Eric on his left, making jokes with his father and laughing. Being the same goofball. Then on his right were Daley and Lex, and he found himself surprised to see Daley crying with joy next to her father. Further down on his right was Taylor, who bore a striking resemblance to her father, and who was complaining about the plane ride back, but not at all about the island. Typical Taylor—sort of. Jackson looked to his left and saw Nathan playing with his younger sister and glancing at his parents, both looking proud. He saw the others who he did not live with, but still looked at fondly. Then he saw Melissa, signaling him to come and meet his family. Now that they were off the island they could finally become a couple, with Taylor's silent blessing. And this would be the last time he could talk without worrying about cops or jail. He went to walk towards her when he was interrupted by the appearance of a familiar sixteen-year- old girl.

"Hey stranger."

**Hey guys! This is my first fanfiction for the show! Basically the girl at the end is his a link from his past—that is all I am saying. I thought that it should be primarily about Jackson, since he is the most fascinating character. Anyway, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson came to an abrupt halt. A hesitant smile formed on his lips and he calmly turned around to greet her.

"Hello."

"That's it?" she says back with a teasing smile. "No, 'Oh my god, I never thought I would see you here!' or 'I am surprised you restrained yourself from greeting me for so long" or some other stoic deadpan response that should make me grin and blush?"

"Hello, Morgan." Jackson walked over and gave her a hug. "You look good." Jackson remembered her fondly. Then she was fairly short, even for a girl, and even now. The appearance was the same: dirty blonde hair, grey and stormy eyes, tan skin, toned, and abnormally long fingers for a girl barely over 5 feet. Sarcasm and a gun, she joked, made up her. He knew better; she really was the strangest girl he knew. It's funny that he became close to Taylor, who looks a little like her. Same generic qualities, but facial features and expressions were completely off. Her face had always had this thoughtful look to it—a sort of intelligent and composed quality. Yet her face looked… different. He couldn't put a word to… she just looked different.

She smiled lightly. "You're doing small talk now. I sort of like it. But now you are just ruining your trademark mysteriousness that just…," she pauses and looks around, suddenly serious, "surrounds you."

Morgan gave him a look that surprised him. In all the time he had known her, which was since they were young, her tone was light and playful. And now it was her sudden seriousness that startled him. It said _Do they know about you?_

He nodded as his answer. Her face relaxed into a half-smile. She cleared her throat as if to speak. A beat passed, and then she said, "So…"

"What are you doing here Morgan?"

A little offended, she responded. "Greeting you, of course. I didn't want you to think you were all alone."

"Oh." For the first time since speaking with her, he glanced around momentarily. Surely, the rest of the survivors were watching him. "That isn't the only reason though?"

"No." Short and curt. Like how she acts when she is serious. "Basically I am briefing you about your… situation."

Jackson stood there and nodded for her to proceed. "We have two eye witnesses that said you went into your old neighborhood before you left for this trip. And by we I mean all the people trying to make sure your name is cleared. They recognized you from the pictures after the crash." She said it calmly, knowing he was fixing the pieces together within his mind. "Anyway, Leo testified that it was not your fault for the stabbing incident and that you were merely stupid enough to go back and brag to a bunch of gangsters about how much better you were than them. The trial has been put on hold until them, but they cannot technically charge you for anything because you have yet to be questioned because of the crash. If it checks out, you are good. If not, you just go to court and explain yourself."

Morgan stared at him, surprised that she spoke her last paragraph of information in one sentence.

Jackson breathed deeply, slowly taking this in. It was quite a lot of information, and far more complex than the "jungle rules." This would take some getting used to. "How bad is it? Honestly."

Morgan looked at him straight in the face. "Really, it isn't bad."

Jackson snorted. "You know what's funny? Most people look away when they are lying. You look them dead in the eye."

"You didn't let me finish. It isn't that bad because of what I've accomplished while you were away."

"That being…?" he said sarcastically.

She looked at him sorely. "That being my brother as your new lawyer. That being me making sure the police find evidence that hasn't been tampered and making sure that they know you as you. That being me stopping funeral arrangements from being made. That being me staying as your oldest friend, despite not seeing you in over a year. That being…"

He interrupted her rising tone quickly "I'm sorry. That last part wasn't my fault though, remember?" An awkward silence brews between them. "Anyway, I want you to meet some people. My friends, my fellow survivors. And I'm sure their families want to meet me. Come on."

He took her wrist as he dragged her away from the now-over-argument, and suddenly her spirits brightened.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is from the personal thoughts of the other survivors about Morgan. How she and Jackson know each other will be further explored. Little dialogue is used in the beginning. By the way, the previous chapter wasn't supposed to end there, but didn't mesh well with this chapter. It's long.**

While Jackson and Morgan were speaking away from everyone else, the rest of the survivors watched in wonder. Sure, they had just been through a plane crash, survived on an island, and had been rescued, but what had really just shocked them was Jackson.

Here was Jackson, the silent-strong-type stoic leader, laughing and smiling. Not only that, but he was with his… whatever she was to him.

The first person to notice of course was Lex. Lex, although always observant and curious, had carefully been watching Jackson since they last spoke. Lex was confident that Jackson would disappear from the tar mat if it weren't for his loyalty and friendship with him and the others keeping him there. But then there was that girl, who definitely surprised him.

As far as Lex could see, the girl was fairly petite, especially for her age, with a small frame. Her clear skin was painted tan with an olive undertone to it, making it have a peculiar, transparent glow. She had medium length, dirty-blonde hair that framed her faced kindly. Her chin was well pointed and her lips were full and off-red lipstick, but her cheekbones were lost with her other features.

The feature that actually grabbed Lex's attention the most were her eyes. Under them were layers of purple bags draped appropriately like curtains, displaying a tiresome look a stressed adult might have. But her eyes had a mystic quality—like staring at lightening the moment before struck. At first glance, her eyes, a large circular shape, looked faintly blue, but really each had a clear stormy quality that was striking and different, as if each was in its own deep thought. Altogether, her face had a composed, thoughtful look. To Lex, in some ways, she looked like the Greek goddess Athena.

Lex snapped back to reality and nodded politely at something his mother said to Daley. It was weirder than it should be to speak to adults again. After all, Daley was practically an adult anyway. What was stranger was seeing Jackson speak so much.

On the island, Lex thought that Jackson was clearly just alone, here and there. Lex was delighted to see that someone cared for him though. He seemed to be the only one with that particular emotion.

Melissa had been greeting her parents as she witnessed this passing. Melissa found herself nervous at the prospect of meeting the girl. Jackson never spoke of her or anyone worth going home to besides his mother, and clearly she was not her. Truthfully, he never spoke about life off the island unless it was a direct question. At least not to her. Maybe Lex or Taylor would know. _No, _said a voice,_ he wouldn't tell her that unless it was necessary. If he told it to Taylor, then he would have told me. Right?_

As Melissa quietly doubted her relationship with Jackson, the others had slowly walked forward, observing the girl. Jackson walked up to each of their families and introduced himself, but only with some major encouragement from Lex.

He walked up to Nathan's father, mother, and younger sister. The family spoke with him for a few minutes while expressing gratitude about being such a great leader as Jackson smiled and nodded back, saying little. Jackson was surprised that in only a few minutes Nathan had mentioned that about him.

Meanwhile, Nathan was holding his toddler sister around his arms while whispering softly to Daley about the girl. Daley, whose attention was only half on Nathan, was privately thinking how little she actually knew about Jackson and how as a leader she should have tried to know him more. Lex was just smiling at Jackson with the greatest adoration a little brother would have for his big brother.

Taylor, whose arm was linked with her father, introduced Jackson as the one who got her through a month without a hairdryer. Mr. Hagan laughed and Jackson mentally noted that laugh was the reason Taylor went fishing even though she hated it.

As Jackson turned his attention to Eric, Taylor stared down his mystery girl. _She almost looks like me and Melissa in one,_ she noted with some mental glee that their previous attraction was not a fluke.

Jackson then met Eric's father, who was just a funnier and fuller version of Eric, and saw how proud he looked at his son for trying to escape and joked how he was always an impatient boy.

Eric was about to ask Jackson who his lady friend was, but he hesitated. And, in Eric's opinion, she was stunning, well most of her. Her eyes threw him off. But still, Eric wanted to make a good first impression. The slight tension in the air created a verbal boundary because of the girl.

The rest of the survivors seemed to be aware of this too because they were all staring at the girl intensely. Melissa shyly introduced Jackson to her parents and gave Jackson a hug, which he reciprocated.

Before anyone got to ask any questions, or before Eric could comment on the sudden tension coming from Melissa, Marcia Thomas, the airline's representative, came in.

"If you are ready, they are ready for you now. Your parents have signed an agreement for the seven of you while, the others have decided not to speak just yet and are receiving care at the hospital. I'll come for you in another five minutes to let you compose yourselves. Okay?"

The crowd nodded weakly. Only one person destroyed the customary silence.

"Alright, then. Ms. Thomas I need you to speak with some of the groups' concerns, though, about the press conference," said Morgan.

"Fine, Miss Carlyle," sighed the woman.

The children turned at Morgan in surprise while the adults just shook their heads in unison. Something told Jackson that this was not their first encounter with Morgan and hardly their first encounter with Morgan's… persistence.

Before Jackson would ask Morgan what the hell she was talking about, Mel interrupted.

"Jackson, why don't you introduce us to your… guest?" Melissa said, searching for a word that would not offend him or his girlfriend or sister or whatever.

"Oh, uh, right. Everyone, this is Morgan Carlyle. Morgan this is Nathan, Daley, Lex, Taylor, Eric, and Melissa. The others who went to the hospital over there are Abby, Ian, and Jory, and the captain."

Most people might have been uncomfortable or even overwhelmed by all of the new attention. But with grace, she just smiled and said hello as if it were an everyday occurrence. Melissa hated her for it.

"So, Morgan, how do you know and Jackson know each other?" Mel asked sweetly. Mel was really asking two questions here and everyone knew it. Except Taylor and Jackson, maybe.

This time Daley stepped in, trying to save Melissa from acting overprotective and saying something immature. First, she gave an awkward, concerned face to Mel, then composed herself quickly, like a leader should. She put her most pleasant face on and tried to speak jokingly. "It's just that we all know everyone's family and friends here since we are all friends since like Kindergarten except Jackson's family, since we didn't know him well before the crash. But now we do, so how do you know each other?"

Jackson looked over to Morgan and he knew she was trying to suppress a smile, which confused him. He didn't realize what was so funny about what Daley and Mel said. It then occurred to him they were wondering what she was to him. They wanted a label and Morgan figured that out in two seconds. Jackson couldn't control himself; it was just a silly idea that Morgan would have some type of label. He too tried to suppress laughter, to the disappointment of Mel and Daley.

"What's so funny?" asked Lex curiously, looking at both Jackson and Morgan.

"Nothing, really Lex. Jackson and I just know each other. I don't remember not knowing him," Morgan said proudly. She continued to Melissa, "And I can't even think of a label to put on our relationship/friendship/whatever. We've had like six different ones," she said, with Jackson nodding. "It's not like we talked recently or anything," she joked.

The group chuckled awkwardly and embarrassingly. Jackson smiled and reached for Melissa's hand for comfort. Not only did he want to, but he needed to. He knew that Morgan's last words were not just about the crash—it had almost been a year since they last spoke. Memories tried to fill in his head but he shut them out; Melissa was good for him like that—she made him forget.

Jackson's sudden move for Melissa's hand was not unnoticed. Melissa gleamed with joy as she looked at Jackson fondly. Daley and Nathan stood back proud, Eric sighed and rolled his eyes, Taylor coyly smiled, and Lex wasn't paying any attention to that. For the first time, Lex noticed no one was looking at Morgan except him and maybe Jackson.

Morgan's face relaxed into its original thoughtful, somber gaze within seconds, but it had a distant, do-not-disturb-me composure. _If anyone else was watching her, he or she would conclude she is jealous, _Lex thought. However, Lex sensed this was not the case; rather that she was intensely upset over… well, he didn't know—Morgan was apparently very skilled at hiding what she felt.

A voice began to intrude Lex's observations.

"Well, I suppose I should leave you to the press conference. If you don't want to answer anything, just say nothing. The reporters will conclude you are still in shock, which from the looks of it, you are. Not to worry though. It shouldn't take long. The press and the airlines have only promised one press conference, and that will be binding," Morgan said coldly.

"That reminds me I have to speak with Ms. Thomas," she groaned. She brightened for a moment though. "It was nice meeting all of you though." Swiftly, she walked past the relatives and to Ms. Marcia Thomas and a couple of suits.

"How do you know her again?" asked Eric in bewilderment, clearly still in awestruck at the girl's jokes and appearance.

Jackson glared at him gravely for Eric's interest. He relaxed a little as he turned to the others. "Ready?"

And finally it hit. A sudden silence crept in as the realization of rescue made way. Sure, they had been on the plane, endured speeches by Marcia Thomas, and were reunited with family. But the realization of rescue only just hit; still, it seemed shallow, as if there were more to come.


	4. Chapter 4

As always, Taylor was the first to express her mind. Taylor nodded enthusiastically. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I can score some type of entertainment deal if this goes right. I mean, I bet we are all ready famous and they'll want to know all sorts of questions and stuff about us! Okay now, damage control," she said as if she were preparing for war or delegating a bad publicity stunt. "Daley, Melissa, come with me. We need some serious make-up and hair products after that flight. I don't care if we got new clothes and showers before the plane, we only have five minutes to look television ready and a ten hour flight does not help."

Melissa and Daley just shook their heads in agreement. Too scared to go against Taylor in her element—and because each of them secretly thought she was right—they went into a bag, and started quickly. Taylor turned to address the boys.

"Well, you do not _need_ any makeup or anything, so maybe a lesson in presentation. Address the crowd, smile, sit-up straight, and take that piece of gum out of you mouth, Eric, when you talk," she said sternly.

In a lighter, shallow tone, she said, "You _guys_ may not care about how you appear, but I do. If any of you embarrasses me… well, I have plenty of dirt on all of you guys to last a press interview. Don't think I won't use it."

She gave a superficial smile and returned to looking at her own reflection. Jackson just shrugged at Lex, Nathan was staring at Daley, and Eric clearly looked annoyed, giving a fake smile back. Nathan and Eric were having a conversation as Lex peeked through the door at all of the cameras and electrical equipment.

Before any of them knew it, it was time for the press conference. Of course, all of them were nervous. Even Taylor was, though she did try and hide her anxiety. The person who was the most anxious was Jackson, and with good reason; His thoughts blurred together quickly: _The police wanted to question him for something he didn't do, he was probably going to be asked questions at this press conference, and he hated promoting or talking about himself._ That was more Taylor's thing, or even Nathan and Daley's.

And now here he was convincing himself to be exactly who he wasn't and will never be. He needed something to concentrate on, or someone. His mind shifted to the others, but in a room full of reporters that would not go unnoticed.

"Alright, this will be no sweat," said Nathan brightly. The others looked at him in surprise. "Well, what I mean is, if we can survive a plane crash, a rescue, and the days in between, than surely we can do this press conference." His confidence was somewhat false, but still reassuring to the others. Jackson appreciated it; Nathan always tried to fix anything that wasn't right—he decided he liked that about him.

Finally, in a single line, the survivors walked into the panel and took their seats accordingly. It was a small, confined room, nothing like the open pastures and beaches of the island. A thousand blinding flashes and exciting murmurs confirmed what he knew: there was no turning back. He just wanted to get this over with now.

Marcia Thomas came in and took a microphone and began reviewing how the teenagers were still in shock and can choose not to answer any questions that are too emotional or too difficult to answer. Also, that she would be calling on the reporters and asked them to be civil. The room echoed with half-hearted laughter.

Jackson skimmed the crowd of eager media reporters, ready at an instance. He wondered which one would address him first. Probably the brunette on the right—she looked the most interested with him. Or maybe it was the girl behind her. His eyes locked with the statuesque girl in the right back corner.

Leaning on the wall at the side door entrance, near the reporters, Morgan stared pensively at the panel or boringly—he never really knew. Even before everything that happened between them, Morgan was an ambiguous person by nature; she was too unpredictable not to be. Her body language straightened up, and she leaned herself with one knee bent from the wall, the other leg holding her position.

The press conference had been going smoothly with basic questions—What was the hardest part? How did you manage for food, shelter, and water? Were you friends before the crash? What happened to the others? Did your survival instincts take charge? How did you govern yourselves with no authority? —the basics really.

Nathan and Daley really took charge during the conference. They knew how to promote themselves, make it look easy, yet assure the reporters it wasn't. Jackson was positive one of them would be a politician. Lex, too, spoke of his inventions and his knowledge of survival quite humbly. And Taylor and Eric spoke of the difficulties of adjustments and such. Melissa spoke of how they used a video diary to express feelings and document their journey, but will not reveal it to the public, as they are private.

For forty minutes, Jackson got away without saying anything more than a few sentences about the work he did on the island and his leadership role. He was pleased to say the least. Jackson would just stare at that back corner every so often at Morgan's stillness when he felt overwhelmed. Eventually he had to speak.

Marcia Thomas called on one last interviewer to end the session.

"So, Mr. Jackson. I believe that you went on the trip due to the generous donation from the students. I guess you got more than you bargained for?" asked a forty-ish female reporter gently. The room shook with light laughter.

"Yes."

"The other survivors have described you so far as the hardest working, most adaptable, and most humble of the group. You were prepared for living on the island much longer than the others. By far, you were the most adaptable," she said with a strange smile. "And before leaving for the trip you were new to the school—and hardly knew anyone— and you were living in foster care; separated from your mother with a record in juvenile hall. And recently it has been revealed that you are facing legal concerns, which you knew about before going away to the island—"

"Excuse me, but your question…" Jackson said, trying to conceal his anger.

"I am sorry for my wordiness. But due to all of these obstacles and factors I ask this: did you want to get rescued?"

The room grew tense and worried, for both the reporters and the survivors were not expecting this. No one could have.

He shuffled around for a moment. "At first, no. There was nothing worth going back to considering the mess that is my life," he glanced at Morgan. "But that doesn't mean I didn't want the others to get rescued. We all developed this bond—it's difficult to explain it if you haven't been through it… I had to rely and trust in almost complete strangers, and that was difficult. Despite the fact that I haven't a proper family situation, and didn't know anyone, I did my best when I was at my worst.

"But, yes. I wanted to be rescued. I wanted to go home, if not for me, then for them. They became my second family."

After his monologue, reporters nearly jumped for a follow up question, but he was done. Jackson had said everything he needed to say about the island and his time there. Marcia Thomas sensed it too, since she said, "Well, thank you for allowing the press an exclusive interview. And if that is everything, I would like to officially end this interview. If you would all come with me," she said to the panel.

The seven survivors quietly exited the panel and found themselves once again smothered by family embraces. It was clear that what everyone wanted now was to go home, eat a real meal, and fall asleep in their beds—what normal teenagers want to do on a Saturday night.

They said their goodbyes for the night. For the first time in over a month, they wouldn't be sleeping in the same place, or waking up to one another, or anything. It took some adjustment then and obviously it will now, but still.

One by one, they left. First Eric and his father, then Nathan and his family, next Lex and Daley and their parents and step-parents, then Melissa and her parents, and then Taylor and her dad.

Alone in the room stood Jackson and Morgan and Marcia Thomas. Jackson looked at her intensely, as if he were asking _what now?_ Morgan shuffled uncomfortably whispered 'thank you' to the representative and signaled Jackson to follow her.

"Where are we going, Morgan?" asked a frustrated Jackson. She hadn't spoken to him since before the press conference. It annoyed him that she was a few strides ahead as well, trying to ignore him somehow.

"What do you mean? You are coming to live with me. I got it all cleared up with foster care people," she told him, a little nervously and uncomfortably while doing it. "Didn't I tell you that?" she said with a smile.

"No. Uh, sorry," he said finally, regret ringing in his voice. He followed her out into the parking lot when she turned around.

"So I was about to call you Cody when Melissa called you Jackson. It struck me as odd. So it's Jackson now, huh?" she asked curiously.

"Well, Cody had a lot of baggage. Jackson doesn't," he shrugged.

"Jackson didn't have a lot of baggage," she quoted. "Were you not just in a plane crash and a deserted island?" she asked teasingly.

"True. I guess Jackson has problems," he said. "But Cody got a kid stabbed."

She studied him for a moment. For once she didn't think of the perfect thing to say to him at the perfect moment. She just let what she was thinking come out, uncensored and unfiltered. Morgan let her guard down:

"Who are you going to be now?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello. Thanks for reading and keep the reviews coming! It's some times disappointing when you don't get many. **

Silence brewed in a thoughtful atmosphere. Silence, once normal and comfortable for the two, transformed itself into teenage awkwardness and intense emotion. It never occurred to Jackson that this was how she saw him in less than a day: as two people. Let alone did it occur to him that he couldn't be both when he was with her. Before he could answer, mutter something or anything, she stepped in her car, ending the conversation as politely as she could.

Jackson followed her lead and stepped into the blue Ford Explorer and took in his surroundings, trying to escape his thoughts with something new. On the island, it was pretty much the same the scenery: palm trees, sand, beach, plane, shelter, chores, the others—it was simply surviving. But L.A. had hardly anything to do with simple and everything to do with surviving.

For the first time in what was turning out to be a long day, Jackson had a peace of mind. He didn't need to worry about a press conference or a bad plane ride or if anyone would come and get him, and he had removed the previous conversation from his head… for the time being. But being back… wasn't simple, in fact it was far from it.

The sun shined dimly as the day was ending, or did it? He looked at the clock—it was only 11 o'clock in the morning and yet he was yawning. He forced himself to stay awake for the car ride to observe the city… and so that Morgan didn't have to wake him up when they arrived at her house and make an uncomfortable verbal exchange.

The car ride to the Carlyle's was surreal for Jackson. He never thought he would go back to that house even before the crash, and yet he found himself exiting the car and staring at the house in bewilderment. It was too surreal.

What was once a small, modest house when he was a boy, had transformed into what can only be described as eccentric. The shutters were all different colors, the door was glass, and the windows had large curtains; the front lawn, surrounded by overgrown trees and bushes, was of a healthy green nature but unkempt and unusually large for such a small lot (actually lots since it looks like the house was built in between two lots). The house also was abnormally tall, due to additions and the past housekeepers' infatuation with extra rooms and gables. Still for a house in a low economic place, it was… nice?

Morgan pulled next to the curb awhile down from the street and motioned for Jackson to get out quickly. She walked toward him with a friendly smile, grabbed his hand and walked him through the front door, as if nothing had happened at all.

She hung her keys in odd contraption in an odd house he knew too well. The house, built unconventionally in the early 1900s, had been decorated strangely, with odd picture frames hanging on the walls of random people. Each wall was wall-papered or bore a different color, despite its size; the furniture, oddly enough, was nearly identical to the walls or crafts. The windows were large and tall, with large curtains draping it from each end. The stairs spiraled to the top of two floors, with another staircase used for the third floor.

Morgan walked toward the kitchen, the only straight passageway available in the house, and skipped towards the refrigerator, taking orange juice out for Jackson and grabbing the paper in her hand. He followed her and sat cautiously across from her. The press conference, he realized, took place at about seven in the morning, lasted a few hours, and it took them an hour to reach her house. _L.A. traffic—great stuff_, he thought.

She stopped reading the paper, _the LA Times_, and handed it to Jackson as she rested her chin on her hand, studying him as he skimmed the article. "Well you made the front page. Nothing really interesting, just how the plane was found and a press conference is scheduled for when you arrive, which already happened," her voice mumbling at the end. She cleared her throat. "Anyways, my brother's coming home in the next hour or so to greet you. Percy is sorry he couldn't come to the airport, but he had court early this morning.

"And then Jason is coming by later this week, he doesn't want to overwhelm you, and then my mom will be here for you for dinner. She also apologizes, but her spirit guide or something like that told her to give you some space, but she is picking you up stuff for a room on the third floor with clothes, toothbrush, the basics."

A beat passed between them.

Jackson sat there, satisfied with his briefing and smiled. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it …" she went off and started taking off her leather jacket and loosening her collar, obviously uncomfortable with the silence.

Jackson was just sitting there, observing her. It was unusual to see her so calm and normal. Like how she used to be before it happened.

"What?" she asked uncharacteristically shyly.

"Nothing, really. You just look… different."

"Right," she stretched out, rolling her eyes as she mocked the seriousness in his statement. He fought a yawn, but lost. "You must be tired. After all, you have just had a trans-Pacific flight for like ever and a tiring press conference. Why don't you go take my room for now?"

"No, it's fine. Maybe later though. I want to see your family."

She raised an eyebrow. The front door lock began to jiggle, "Speaking of my family…"

A man in his mid-twenties and his motherly companion entered the front door. Percy, groceries in hand, walked in a suit in tie, fresh from court and looking bright and optimistic; it was that quality which Jackson decided he liked about him. Percy bore some resemblance to Morgan, but not nearly enough to make Jackson remind him of her. His wispy dirty blond hair was unusually parted, probably for court, but a youthful smile remained on his face when he came to greet Jackson. Unlike his younger sister, he was considered to be of average height, yet still shorter than Jackson, and very muscular for a man of only 26, with classically handsome features: a strong chin, large forehead, etc. As he approached Jackson, Jackson noticed the new bags under his dark chocolate eyes—most likely from his job as a public defender—and stood to greet Percy.

"It's good to see you, man. And a man you now are," he laughed jollily. "What did you do, grow on me?" he asked lightheartedly.

"Well, one of us had to," Jackson replied teasingly.

Percy turned to Morgan, who was watching the exchange with wonder, in mock surprise:

"Are my ears working correctly or did the world's most serious, brooding teenager crack a joke that wasn't deadpan?"

"Second most. I beat him with my ability to deadpan so seriously, it's funny," she said in a fascinating monotone.

Percy opened his arms for a hug and as he leaned in he saw Mrs. Carlyle. Jackson had known her for years and not once did she ever stop surprising him, much like her daughter. Mrs. Carlyle, walked straight from the front door to Jackson. No matter how long Jackson will know her, she will always be addressed to as Mrs. Carlyle—an unspoken curtsey and respect that given to her by everyone she met.

She was wearing a peacock dress, zebra-stripped boots and an oversized hat—her everyday clothing really. Her hazel brown eyes animated her features as she walked towards the kitchen, which always reminded Jackson of a silent movie star. Her brown hair hung in a curled bun near her long neck, noticeable when she removed her hat from her head. To Jackson, she was a woman who's beauty survived her youth but maybe not her strange outfit choices.

"Hello, Mrs. Carlyle. You look great," said Jackson as he leaned in for a hug.

"Oh, Cody darling. How good it is to see you!" she spoke, with a slight southern drawl, a cigarette in hand. "You do not want to know how worried sick I was to hear about the crash, and Morgan said she didn't want to overwhelm you with all these people, and well thank heavens you are alive and now you are safe and sound in our house, which of course you are welcome to stay here, obviously, and did someone get you breakfast? Well, let me. But the crash? What was it like? Scary, exciting, bit of both? Oh, now look at me—I am so rude. Of course you don't want to talk about that. It's just that my relics and spirit guides told me to…" she continued, unpacking her bag, and unaware that she was rambling.

Percy and Morgan shared a look, suppressing a smile and a chuckle to the woman's complete obliviousness. Jackson, on the other hand, was just glad that he had someone who was acting like a mother, albeit an eccentric one.

Percy, the closest child with his mother, delicately interrupted her ranting, "Mother, I think that Cody is tired and probably wants some rest. Also, we can refrain from mentioning the… past events and look forward. Anyway, don't you have to instruct a yoga class in an hour? Let the teenagers chill and hang out for a bit, yeah?"

Mrs. Carlyle glanced at Jackson with a fond smile and responded with, "Oh alright. You rest and do whatever you want to do—we will eat whenever you wake up or want to then. Besides, I imagine it is awkward being around adults and such." She walked over from the table, and kissed his head. "I missed you Cody Jackson." She was referring to more than the crash.

"Likewise, Mrs. Carlyle."

"Now Percy about my car problems I was telling you earlier. I think I need new spark plugs."

"Mother, we discussed this, and do you even know what spark plugs are?"

Jackson and Morgan quietly slipped out of the room and walked up one of the house's many staircases. The walls, covered in portraits and photographs, did not have wallpaper, but instead had picture frames, some empty, most full. Most had family members dating back as far as the seventeenth century, with paintings and old photographs. A select few had family and friends on the wall. At the top of the stairs, one photograph stood out to Jackson. It was a photo with him, his mother, and Morgan before the social worker came. He stopped at the photo, examined how he looked, and tried to put words to it. He was happy in that photo, he concluded, and he guessed Morgan was too, with her arm around him tightly.

Morgan, aware of his abrupt halt, turned around, "Oh yeah. I found that recently and asked to put it on the wall. It is a really good picture."

"I thought you only put family on the walls, though. It's like a photo album for the Carlyles."

She raised an eyebrow. "It never occurred to you that we see you as family?" she asked curiously.

As Jackson shrugged and began his stride toward one room, Morgan walked to the next staircase. "Come on. I switched to the third floor."

They marched in silence until Jackson saw unfamiliar territory. The third floor was, as far as he understood, an antique collection, with the most windows. There were cribs and old rocking chairs, couches, lounge chairs, and lamps; it was basically an attic with a heavy price tag. Now the hardwood floors were now polished, a grand piano sat in the corner, surrounded by many windows, and the walls were white, only covered with artwork in between the windows. To the right lead to Morgan's room.

Morgan's room was rather typical for any teenager. The walls were blues, the furniture matching, obscure lamps with multiple light fixtures were numerous, and posters hung on the wall. A large stereo with an impressive music collection of records, CDs, albums, and more hung across an oversized Queen bed. The furniture spaced out accordingly to give the room a large and spacious quality and the ceiling was at least 15 feet high. The lighting in the room was strange, though. There were four, long windows, with large navy blue curtains, that overlooked the street on the left which easily brightened the room, yet the room itself could have functioned fine if all were covered with curtains. The room seemed to fit two teenagers: a happy one and a darker one.

Jackson for the third time in less than a half hour could not help himself and produced another yawn.

"Why don't you take a nap? The time difference must be a bitch. Here, I'll get the curtains…"

"Why are you doing all of this for me?" he asked abruptly as he sat on the bed.

Still preoccupied with the curtains, she answered curtly, "Doing what?"

"Helping me. The last time I saw you we were practically strangers, before that... And now—"

"And now what?"

"And now you are going out of your way to help me. I could be in foster services now or with one of the others, which would be weird, but I am not."

"If this is your version of 'thank you' you're welcome." She jumped on her bed and sat next to him.

"No," he sighed, frustrated. "I want to know why. Why I am on the photo wall and why you still remotely care about me, Cody, after all the shit we have been through. Why you picked me up from the airport and hired a lawyer, which I am betting it is Percy, for a case where people think Cody stabbed a kid. Why you offered to take care of me instead of put me in foster care. Why you are letting me live with you. I don't understand. I didn't deserve this—I don't deserve this. I just want to know why."

Her face looked pale and upset; she was no longer in control of her emotions and was fighting to regain that control. A few moments passed and she cleared her throat.

"Because you didn't do anything not to deserve a family, Cody," she said quietly. "I know you want one. But the Carlyles don't care about any baggage and they still want you in this family."

Less aggressively now, he asked, "What about you? Do you want me here?"

She laughed a little. "Cody, I want you in my life. I hate labels, which you very well know, but my feelings for you are hardly brotherly. They are mixed with years of friendship and romance and heartbreak and drama and strangeness, but that doesn't mean I don't want you in my family. I know you developed this bond with the other survivors, and you can consider them your family, and all I ask is that you try and do the same for us."

He was relieved. "Okay. I can try."

He was pleading with her now to answer just one more. "But why do _you_ still want to help me? I mean, we have been through a lot, but still why?"

She spoke slowly. "I don't really know."

In all of the time Jackson had known Morgan, she always gave him an answer. Her mind was used to his questions and she was good at manipulating what she said to satisfy his own question. But this answer… was plainly truth.

Jackson was content of her answer.

"Goodnight, Cody Jackson."

"Isn't it afternoon?"

"Well, goodafternoon then."

She left him quietly and he began to drift asleep, thinking of the others, the Carlyles, and most notably, Morgan's talk with him.

**Really long chapter I know! But, I didn't know where to end it and it has been awhile since I updated... By the way, the next chapter is going to shed some light on Morgan and the Carlyles featuring none other than a dream sequence! Don't worry, other castaways will be featuring. Oh, and by the way. Remember this is a Jackson story. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

The island was as beautiful as it ever could be. The remaining sun cascaded down on the ocean blue. The air, slightly humid and dry at the same time, sustained little warmth as the wind from the tides carried the ocean's smell to land.

Cody Jackson sat on the cold sand, observing as day met night, sun met moon. To the right of him was the plane about half a mile down from where he sat. To the left of him was a girl, whom he could not identify for where she sat her face was hidden. She began to play the piano, which was sitting in the sand as the tides came closer, and she played beautifully. He listened as she played and as the sun set, and as the sky became dark so did her music. What was once warm and happy sounded dark and mysterious. _How odd,_ he thought.

The skyline and the ocean met to form one blanket of darkness. Suddenly, the music stopped playing, grabbing Jackson's attention. He turned to the piano, but it was gone; it brought him no more comfort now anyways.

"Jackson!" yelled the right. His turned quickly and he found his body near camp. He didn't think about though, and just reverted back to what he was doing before hand. He lied down on the beach, the ocean's tides in his ears, the salt in his nose, the sand in his teeth, and the day sky in his eyes. That's odd. It's morning now.

A dark teenage boy tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and found himself staring back at the boy's wide smile, with some mild confusion of his own.

"Let's go. Daley wants to give everyone a physical. Isn't she such a great leader?," said Nathan.

Nathan and Jackson walked towards Daley while watching the others. Jackson passed Lex and Melissa. Lex, who was vehemently observing Melissa, was asking her to do some gymnastics.

"Now Melissa. I want you to do a back-hand spring. That way, we will know if all of your limbs are in the right place, because it will probably hurt if you don't have any feet or arms."

"But, Lex! I thought I already proved to you that I had a backbone when I helped Eric from his food allergies," whined Melissa. "And before that when I did a tumble off of the plane."

In a very serious, matter-of-factly voice, he said, "Melissa, Daley asked for a physical, and you have to physically prove you have one. Besides, physical proof is the only kind of proof, and by doing a back-hand spring, you are showing me that you have a backbone."

She shrugged, "Okay, I guess." And then she performed a standing tuck.

"Melissa! I said a standing tuck. Do we need to do a physical on your ears as well?"

Jackson gazed oddly at the two before directing his eyes to Taylor and Eric, which was a much more fascinating sight: Taylor preparing to conduct surgery on Eric, with a pair of scissors and a pair of kitchen tongs, for instance.

Taylor looked at her chart and then muttered, "Well, we already checked if you have a heart—which you do and it's just really tiny— so check. And after that you put something in my ears to see if things went in one ear and out the other, which kind of worked—so check. And now I am so supposed to perform surgery on you to see if you are spineless or not. So roll over on your stomach."

"Please don't make me do this," responded Eric. "I mean, my tan will be completely uneven," said Eric. "Could you just make the incision in my stomach, feel around a little bit for the spine? Oh, and you can check off guts at the same time!"

"Cool, we can multi-task." A thought initiated excitement. "Are we overachievers or what? Beat that Daley and Nathan!" shrilled Taylor with excitement over the thought of outperforming the couple.

Jackson kept walking, with little confusion on his face (it was well hidden). He found himself underneath one of the shelters they built "So, what will you be doing to me for my physical?" asked Jackson.

"Oh, well I haven't had a chance to do mine yet. But I think everyone wants, no, _needs_ a physical and since I am leader now I thought it was about time. Besides, everyone voted on it," said Daley.

"I didn't vote," muttered Jackson.

"Yeah, well. We decided that she could vote for you in your place," Daley said, nodding her head right over to Morgan.

Morgan was patiently sitting in an office chair near-ish the plane down by the beach. She waved up at him, and returned to her previous stare contest with the ocean.

"Hey, Daley! While I check to see if you are hot-headed, because of your red hair, maybe you can check if I have a big head? You know, go down the check list and stuff? Together?" Nathan said, not trying to hard to hide his obvious affections for Daley.

"Great. And Jackson can get his physical by Morgan and vice versa. Excellent," Daley said to Jackson. She rotates her head to Nathan. "Isn't this voting idea great?"

The couple excitedly got out a tape measurer and thermometer lying near the clipboard. Jackson, hands in his pockets, stepped towards Morgan, now turning around from previously facing the beach.

"Before we start, have you seen anyone play a piano?" Jackson said, struggling to get the words out of his mouth for fear he sounded crazy.

She shook her head without looking at him.

"Ready?" he sighed.

She nodded her head naively. "Okay, let's see. What do I need to prove to you?"

Jackson looked hesitantly at her. "Are you cold?"

"I don't know. I don't feel cold. I guess you just have to touch me to find out…?" said Morgan.

"Okay then." Awkwardly, he reached out for her and touched her limbs. "You are a little cold, but nothing to make me call you cold."

"Thanks," she beamed. He hands the clipboard over to him. "Oh, go and sit down." Behind him a lounge chair appears and he sits in it.

"Well let's see then... oh."

"Oh what?"

"To Jackson: are you broken?"

"What?"

"Broken. Are you broken?" she repeated kindly.

"What do you mean broken?" Jackson gritted through his teeth.

"Well at least not physically." Jackson glared Morgan down. "What? You know that you are not broken physically, but you question yourself… psychologically."

"Really, then. Well what does it ask about you?"

"The physical was testing everyone's psychological health," said Morgan, ignoring Jackson's question. "It wasn't about your health, but your emotions. Everyone you ran into has expressed their own faults to you at one point or another, and your brain chose to represent them in a physical manifestation. It's just some basic psychology," Morgan explained patiently.

"And you would know all about psychology, wouldn't you?" Jackson sneered. "But answer the question: what does it ask about you?"

Her composure lost all pleasure and lightness and it hardened quickly. "Right now, it's asking me if I am scarred. And we both know the answer to that one." She pulled down her shirt's strap to show some serious scars as well as some on her wrists. Morgan glanced down at the clipboard once more.

"And now it's asking me if I am broken," she said coldly. "Well? It's your opinion. Am I broken, Jackson?"

A beat passed between the two of them. "But that isn't what you are avoiding telling me." She stated it simply, not as a question, but as a fact.

The two stared at each other. Something caught his attention in the water. He turned his attention to Morgan again and the air clicked—it was night time.

But it wasn't nighttime at the island. From the sight of the carbon-copy white walls and the scent of death, Jackson was in a hospital.

Jackson opened an-all-too familiar door and entered. At the entrance, Morgan was waiting for him. She was sitting on her bed, IV in her arm, bandages all around just waiting for the conversation.

But the conversation didn't happen. At least not now. This was an old conversation. Jackson watched himself and Morgan speak, but it was like his voice was muted, as if he was not allowed to listen, but only heard Morgan speak. After all, he did need to tell her something. Something having to do with the hospital maybe?

The dream shifted back to the island, repeating itself, until it stopped before Jackson reached the hospital as he began to wake up.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was Morgan, quietly gazing out of one of the room's many windows. Her body language was contorted and reconfigured when she realized Jackson was waking up.

"Hey," he said. He looked out the windows and realized it was dark. His body felt good relaxed. After a month of constantly working, poor weather conditions, and little downtime, rest was nice. "What time is it?"

"Hey. It's good to see you awake. You kind of slept all day and a good portion of the night. I didn't know if I should wake you or not, so I just let you sleep. Oh, and it's about 11 p.m."

"Well that explains all of the time shifts in my dream," Jackson muttered to himself, though it was heard by Morgan.

"You had a dream? Do you remember it?" she asked, barely curious.

"Bits and pieces. I just know it was strange and it kept ending in—" he stopped himself short. He didn't know where it was, and he didn't know how to explain it. It also grabbed his attention that Morgan didn't seem to care.

If there was one thing Jackson had always liked about her, it was that she treated things with importance, even if they weren't or even if she did it subtly. Morgan didn't press the issue or even ponder thoughtfully over it. She just sat there, clearly thinking of something else. She rose from her sitting position and lied down next to Jackson, still in an entranced, deep thought. Her arm brushed his as she positioned herself comfortably lying down, with Jackson sitting up.

"Morgan, you are freezing," he worried.

"Am I?" she said, almost to herself. Her mind was somewhere else still.

"Yes. Here," he said, as he covered her with a blanket. "What were you doing in here anyway?"

Finally, a question that interested her, she said, "I didn't want you to wake up and be alone. You have to ease in to things, you know."

"Aren't you tired?"

She laughed a little. "I'm always tired, Cody. But I never want to go to sleep. I hate to sleep," she spat with disgust. Her tone brightened. "Besides, you are wide awake now. At least for the next hour or so before you'll want to go back to sleep. And it's too late for me to play the piano, so… what do you want to talk about?" she said sleepily.

A beat passed.

"I dreamt I was on the island," he whispered.

"Hmmmm?"

"And you were there. On the island with me, that is," he continued.

"Oh. What were we doing on the island?" she inquired.

"Just talking. And then we were… somewhere else but I couldn't hear the conversation. It was muted or something," he said as he rested his head against the pillow.

"No, I meant why were we on the island?" She smiled at him and rolled her eyes slightly.

"I don't know. I think I had to tell you something." He struggled to find the right words, to find the right way to say what he wanted.

"What do you think it is?" Her eyes had found him and locked on him intently.

"I haven't been very kind. It's just… a lot of things have happened and I don't know how to deal with everything that has happened. My mother, us, the crash, the aftermath. It's like… I am not together with everything and I am taking it out on you. Like there is something fragmented. Something—"

"Broken," she said. "You feel broken." It was a statement, not a question.

"That wasn't what I wanted to tell you actually. It just came out. I think that in the dream I wanted to tell you something."

"Tell me what?" Here eyes were closed, but her ears were open.

"What happened," he stated simply. "I never told you about it though, did I?"

"I don't believe you had the chance today."

"I want to tell you about it then."

And so Jackson went into detail about the entire experience, not leaving a single detail or thought or emotion, and found himself almost relieved. He was never one to like to hear himself talk, but finally he could let go to another person. A thought occurred to him: he dreamt about the hospital because of Morgan He was sure that he could do so with Lex or Melissa, maybe his mother, but not Morgan.

After all, Jackson was the reason Morgan almost died.

**Thanks for reading. Sorry about the delay, but school is starting and applications suck. Please review and guess about the mysteries added into this chapter. Thanks a lot!**


	7. Chapter 7

It was not long after Jackson had recounted every single detail of his island experience that Jackson drifted off to a dreamless steady, sleep (Morgan, an uneasy sleeper, did in fact dream). It was only when the bright, bizarre sunlight beat itself into the room did the two wake, energized and ready for the day ahead. Sort of.

The truth was that on the island, every day was more or less certain. There was only a finite amount of combinations which made the day either good or bad. A good day would be one with enough food and water. A bad day would be the drama or the weather. Either way, Jackson knew of the possibilities that faced him. But now the possibilities were endless. And not in an optimistic, happy-go-getting attitude, but the dark, pessimistic one he ever so preferred when it came to these endless possibilities.

Jackson turned over and looked at the clock, _only 8_ he thought, and began his morning routine. Well, he resumed his old one since his latest routine involved a latrine, a cold "shower," and a lack of a mirror.

After his morning rituals, he walked down two flights of stairs quietly and saw Morgan eating cereal at the counter in her pajamas. But last night, when they fell asleep next to each other, she was not wearing pajamas but normal clothing. He looked at her oddly before she pointed to her mother getting something from the refrigerator. In anyone's eyes, it would have looked weird if Morgan had come downstairs in the clothing she was wearing the previous day and even weirder that they slept next to each other.

Jackson nodded at her as Mrs. Carlyle went out of her way to make him feel comfortable and secure. While he was eating breakfast, and Morgan was ignoring him by reading the newspaper, a barely audible knock banged on the front door. Morgan, engrossed in some old newspapers in a case file, and Mrs. Carlyle, on the phone with her seer, _basically_ encouraged Jackson to answer the door by completely ignoring the door.

He walked straight from the kitchen to front door, expecting an eager salesman or a sweet Christian pamphlet woman. What he did not expect were two average looking police detectives, one rather old and the other new—just promoted maybe.

"Are you Cody Jackson?"

"Yes." His reply was short and curt.

"We have some questions for you. Can we come in?" said the older detective.

"Oh, err…" he turned his head, about to ask if they could, before he saw Mrs. Carlyle nearly running to the door.

"Cody, who's at the door?" she said pleasantly until her pleasant composure dropped at the sight of the two. She tried to recover her rudeness, but she, unlike her daughter, could not control her emotions so easily. In a smaller voice, she whispered, "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, ma'am," the younger one said. "We were just asking if we could come in and ask a few questions." The polite manner in which he spoke told Cody he had not been a detective for very long.

In a forced smile she said, "Well if it's only a few questions, certainly this can be handled out on the porch, don't you think?" She said it in such a sweet manner, but her words were anything but sweet.

The younger one glanced at his partner as he hesitated. "Okay, then," he said uncomfortably.

"Excellent. And since he is under 18, I think it is appropriate that I am here while you question him. Don't you think?" Her eyes gleamed innocence.

The younger one nodded curtly as the older man snickered to himself over her subtle manipulation.

"Mr. Jackson, may I call you Cody?" A nod. "Can you tell us where you were on the night of the eighth?"

"In my old neighborhood. I was visiting friends."

"Do you know Leo Curtis?" Another nod. "Did you see him that night?" Another nod, now an uncomfortable one with a slight pause. "What were you doing with him when—?"

And to Jackson's surprise the older detective silent for most of this ordeal interrupted his inferior. "Matt, this is pointless. Get to the point, we're detectives not lawyers. Did you know Leo Curits was stabbed that night? More importantly, did you see it?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe it for us?"

After a brief moment of hesitation, he responded. "I was visiting old friends, excited that I could go to another country on this trip. I told them all about it. No one was happy about it, but Leo stood up for me. A fight broke out, I tried to stop it, someone pulled out a knife, and Leo was stabbed. I called 911, and he told me to leave so I wouldn't get in trouble once the ambulance was right down the block. That's all that really happened. I really can't describe it any clearer than that."

The younger one looked up with slight glee. "Did you see what kind of knife it was that stabbed him? Was it this?" He opened a police case file and pointed to a small pocketknife.

"Actually, it was."

"Did you see who stabbed him?"

"No, but I know who was there."

The younger one smiled excitedly. "Would you be willing to testify in court?"

Cody sighed and stared at the floor. "Will there be a jury?"

The younger one's face fell. "Why is that important?"

A moment of silence. The older one cleared his throat appropriately and grunted, "Because this kid has been in court before and he does not want the jury to discard his information just because of who he is and if it's for nothing he's screwed. Or… he wants leverage."

The police and the adult continued to speak.

Cody Jackson continued his staring contest with the floor. He was contemplating what he could, wondering what kind of leverage he could bargain for—and what the hell they were talking about. As he discovered his answer, a cold voice intruded his thoughts.

"That will not be necessary. He needn't leverage. He doesn't need to testify in court unless he is being prosecuted. He can give you the information, but unless you can get dirt he's not committing himself to something any larger. If you have any more questions, please call the house number." Though Percy didn't utter a word to leave, his tone was clear enough.

Jackson, now out of his trance, nodded his head. It was probably for the best that he didn't go about it that way. He easily slipped into the morning room while his savior spoke to Mrs. C. Morgan, gathering her binders hurriedly. The folders, filled with newspaper clippings, looked complicated and secretive. It was the same type of folder the younger policeman showed him a ten minutes earlier. The cover said JACKSON.

"So, where do you want to go today? We could go to the mall—which wouldn't be too much fun for you, but still you need clothes that haven't been picked up by a mom, and an eccentric one at that." He didn't respond.

"Well, we could go ride bikes, do something by the beach… but maybe not, err… How about this new guitar store in Burbank? A bit of a drive, but worth it since you haven't a decent one." His stare felt penetrative and pensive.

"I mean, tonight, we are going to Nathan's house for the feast that will end all feasts, but still…" Her eyes avoided him, as though she knew what he was thinking without hearing it.

A moment passed, so she repeated herself. "So, what do you want to do today? Cody?" In a cracked voice, "Jackson?"

He responded, "I think I want you to show me the file you have on my mother and tell me where my mother is, Morgan."

**Thanks for reading, please review and post theories!**


	8. Chapter 8

"I think I want you to show me the file you have on my mother and tell me where my mother is, Morgan."

His voice was quite calm and polite with a slight edge to it. Clearly, he was not asking, but telling.

Most people in situations like these would deny any involvement in such a file let alone the fact that the file existed. Most people would then apologize profusely, whether they meant it or not. But Morgan did neither of these things.

Her body language shifted subtlety as her eyes became hardened and a stormy grey. "No," she said.

Out of all the outcomes and possible scenarios that could have happened, he did not expect this one. His cool and collected appearance trembled a little as it transformed itself to weakness.

"Why not?" he asked, trying to disguise his spite with an ill formed cough.

"It isn't complete. The family friend, the P.I., is still working his mojo on every last detail. It will be of no use to you. At least right now," her answer sounded so calm, so simple, and so casual. So… rehearsed. He stared at her as he calmed down.

"That's bullshit, Morgan. Why the hell not?"

His aggression frustrated her. "Because I am tired right now, Jackson. And I don't feel like dealing with your constant whining. It's not done. Besides, I don't have to tell you anything about. And why should I?"

Her voice, colder than ice, articulated every syllable so casually that it sent shivers down Jackson's spine.

She continued. "This past month, I woke up every morning with a purpose: to find you and make sure you are okay. And now that I have I don't really like who you are that much. You yell at me with every chance you have, you don't tell me anything unless I drag it out of you, and you can't trust me. You have known me for over ten years and you can't trust me, but you can trust people you've known for a few weeks!"

"I've always trusted you Morgan." She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I've tried. But I need to make my own mistakes."

"It's not about making your own mistakes, we both know you've made plenty," Morgan said coolly. "But I know you. If there is one thing I know, it's you; both of you. But you don't know me anymore—I am not sure if you ever did."

"Where is this coming from?" he asked slowly.

She forced herself in a lighter mood. "I told you, I didn't sleep well. I don't really want to talk about this anymore. We can discuss this… at another time. If you would excuse me I have to go and practice."

Morgan exited the room gracefully and left a stunned Jackson to stare at the spot where she just stood. Jackson turned to follow her but Percy stood behind him, who had obviously heard the entire conversation/fight at this point.

"Hey, I am not getting in the middle of this."

"Wait—you know what is going on with her?"

"Yes, Cody. Morgan does not sleep much, and while it usually does not bother her, at least from what you and I see, it occasionally becomes a little too much for her." His voice could have reassured anyone it was so warm, like honey. But maybe it was because he was Morgan's brother, Cody couldn't completely believe him.

"What aren't you telling me?" Jackson asked.

"Morgan—has very vivid nightmares. I am not sure what all of them are about, but I know the basics of it. She dislikes sleeping because of it."

"Okay, what triggered the nightmares? I don't remember her having them a year ago."

"A few things, but most possibly you did," he responded sadly. "That's one of the reasons Jason has not come by to see you yet. Morgan's never been… normal, but with everything she went through… Cody, I must apologize but I overstepped my bounds. I have to leave, but please, respect her space today. Just do your own thing for awhile. Okay?" He didn't wait for an opportunity for Jackson to ask any questions, and left his house hurriedly.

Jackson lifelessly strolled to the room Mrs. Carlyle had prepared for him and tried to relax. It's not everyday you are told you might be responsible for ruining someone's life. Maybe Percy didn't say that exactly, but he implied it.

Jackson knew exactly why they started for Morgan and Percy didn't even understand the full story. It really is quite strange how little you can know a person. Even when that person is your friend, best friend, girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, and stranger all at the same time, Jackson still didn't really know her. It worked both ways, as Morgan had no idea of what he was capable of.

He pushed it—once again—to the back of his mind. Instead, for the rest of the day Jackson organized and tidied his room and added little touches of his personal tastes. One of his favorite things that he has had in all of his rooms was his ceiling. He personally decorated the top with a complex solar system emulating the night sky which lit up when the room was dark. While doing this, he even multi-tasked by trying to think of how to break the conversation between him and Morgan.

It was near five o'clock that day when he finally decided to walk across the hall and knock on her door. But he didn't get a chance to since she was outside his door preparing to knock. She smiled slightly, "Hey stranger.

Jackson gestured her inside so. "So…"

"We should get going. We might be late to the party." She said abruptly.

"I doubt that it starts in an hour."

Searching her head for an excuse, yet barely pausing from his statement, she said, "L.A. Traffic."

"Wait," he grabbed her bruised and burned wrist, old scars really. He could hear her heartbeat race when he touched grabbed her wrist. "No. We need to talk." He gestured her again to sit on his bed with him. Instead, she lied down, her head facing the ceiling.

"What, are you breaking up with me?" she mocked. Her face became stiff suddenly, as if she remembered something unpleasant. Her tone became no-nonsense for the second time this day. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You… and me." He waited for a biting response or some delayed sarcasm, but nothing. He took that as his cue to continue.

"I never really appreciated you; ever. And you were almost always there for me. But I never really was for you, at least not when it mattered. I mean—how can I phrase this?—I just didn't know how to be there for you too. And then when you thought you could trust me, I let you down."

"You got scared." Morgan stated. Her mind was somewhere else entirely again as she let a tear fall from her eye.

"Not from that," he reassured her quickly; he knew she could have been referring to only one thing. He wiped away her tears for her. "The future…"

"Bull," she said quietly. She didn't hear an answer so she continued, "then you were scared of me," she cried, and stood fast. He couldn't look at her; but he forced himself to do so.

"No! When you and your dad got in that car accident, I knew how to help you guide through the pain, and how to even deal with only one parent. You blamed yourself and I would not have known how to help you if it was a small problem let alone one that size. But that was when we weren't together. I never knew how much pain you went through when he left. You were always so good at hiding your emotions—"

"Stop— I can't always turn them off around you," she croaked.

"It's necessary, Morgan. I need you to know this."

"Don't pretend that you want me to know this, you just don't want to feel bad about keeping all of this inside of you any longer!" she nearly shouted.

But her anger at him wouldn't work this time. A thought had finally occurred to Jackson, the pivotal thought to understanding Morgan: she was always thinking. Thinking, refraining, hiding. Hell, Morgan was manipulating their entire conversation. She knew exactly what to say to make him upset and defend himself; she knew exactly how to change the subject; and she knew exactly how to show her emotions and when to show her emotions. But most importantly, it was true: she did know him better than anybody else.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't going to work this time, Morgan. It's necessary. I need you to know this," he reiterated.

"Don't do this. Please," she begged. For once, her plea was genuine. "Cody wouldn't do this to me. He wouldn't make me relive this. Please, stop," she pled. Morgan had never been so desperate in her life not to relive the past. Hell, she would even let herself be vulnerable to do so.

"What do you mean? I am Cody," he said gently.

"No, you are not," she cracked. "Before you even left for the new foster care system, Jackson, you still left me," her mind was somewhere else. "You needed to deal with your mother once again and you _abandoned _me," she said, as if the words were acid.

Her voice became shrill. "You became not the Cody Jackson I knew, but a poor reflection of it. Cody didn't abandon me because he was _long_ gone by then. I broke down. Aaand, aand, and, I was in the hospital for months and how many times did you visit me, twice? You said you would always be there for me aaand, aaand, aaand you weren't." She was crying harder than he had ever seen her, stuttering and barely catching her breath. Her eyes, usually grey, literally looked like storm clouds the way she was crying. "_That_ is what killed me. That my best friend, my boyfriend, couldn't be there for me. Cody is dead."

"Cody is right here—"

"No you are not," she barked with venom in her throat. "I thought I could make you happy. But I didn't. But I couldn't," she laughed a little madly. "Maybe I deluded myself into thinking I could do it now. You were always broken—I thought I could fix you But, I guess we're both broken now."

A beat passed. Several, quite possibly; Jackson didn't really know how long they sat there in silence.

Suddenly, she went to the bathroom connected to his room and fixed her hair and makeup. She came out and patted the nonexistent dust off of her brown leather jacket, fixed her form-fitting jeans and boots, and glanced at Jackson's door-mirror detachedly.

A knock on the door. "Hey, can I come in?"

Morgan opened the door to Percy, just home from work probably, and completely unaware of the hell that had just taken place on the other side of the door. "Are you guys ready to go?"

"Yeah, we'll be down in a minute. Get the car started," Morgan said brightly and hugged her brother. She turned cheerfully to Jackson, "Coming, stranger?"

**Sorry for the delay. I think I rewrote this chapter about 13 times before it sounded right. The first draft was so dark. I also wanted to make sure that Morgan's back story wasn't too dark or too whiny, so I decided to have it not completely revealed so quickly. By the way, Morgan is not a psychopath or anything—she is just in complete control of how to feel and how to appear completely normal, except for when she is around Jackson, a fact that she really hates. She just has a lot of issues. Any questions, please go ahead and ask in reviews.**

**Thanks for reading, and please review! My interest in this was only renewed so recently because of new reviews (thanks serendipity545). **


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: I am trying to start almost exactly where I leave off, so it might be a good idea to read the last chapter. I would post a 'previously' but I don't want to tamper with the word count, which I practically live by.**

The pair awkwardly walked down two flights of stairs, well at least Jackson walked awkwardly near Morgan; Morgan seemed frighteningly fine with all of it. It got worse when Mrs. Carlyle and Percy took the front. Morgan's brother Jason claimed he was working late, but Jackson was sure that Jason just didn't want to spend any time near Jackson. The car ride was noisy, as Percy and Mrs. Carlyle bickered about another grievance about her car, and then her finances on a personal psychic, but Jackson needed noisy to think.

Everything Jackson knew about Morgan was in fact false, a lie. Maybe not everything, but everything important. Here was Morgan, in so much pain and rage at him that she gasped for air between insults in their last conversation, and now she is sitting next to him calmly, tranquilly. In only a few minutes she composed herself physically to meet other people, and mentally it took even less than that. To be perfectly honest, it was unsettling to Jackson that she could do that; so quickly she turned her emotions on and off right before his eyes a thousand times, yet he just never noticed it.

Morgan had always been unpredictable to Jackson—he never knew what she was thinking, and now he knew that it was because she could hide it with little effort. He turned to her as she gazed out the window pensively, almost as if her face itself was mourning. He realized he didn't know that face very well…

About thirty minutes later and one road rage incident (on Mrs. Carlyle's part of course), the four people pulled up to the gate community, with Jackson in awe. After maneuvering to the back of the development, the foursome arrived to a small, secluded cul-de-sac and pulled into the far miniature-sized mansion, which Jackson concluded, could only be Nathan's house. The group mingled to the back after barely squeezing into a parking space, and instantly Jackson's jaw dropped; he couldn't help it.

The back lawn featured what can only be described as a small-size wedding catered event. Giant tents were set up toward the end of the property, with catered food and expensive looking utensils, which obviously cost a fortune. A giant pool, with a waterfall and a Jacuzzi, took up most of the left-back yard, while a kickball game occurred next to it with his fellow friends. Everything looked so perfect; he almost didn't want to join in and ruin it.

That moment, Nathan's parents came over and started fawning over him and his "family." He greeted them curtly, but not unkindly, and found himself walking towards his friends after he introduced Mrs. Carlyle and Percy to everyone else's parents, though apparently they had heard of them. Morgan's arm wrapped around Jackson in a playful, and friendly manner when he spoke to all of the adults. It looked comfortable, effortless, yet it physically felt forced somehow, at least on a deeper level.

After a few meaningless conversations with the adults, Morgan excused herself and Jackson for refreshments. It was a pretty exclusive gathering, only the survivors and their relatives—the school was giving them a celebration when classes started in a few weeks to give them time to ease into things.

As Morgan and Jackson walked toward the water cooler near the others, the others watched them grab a couple water bottles and walk near the swingset. Each had a very specific and different thought for the most part: Eric and Taylor started thinking how thirsty they were; Nathan was wondering if he would have to go and get more water bottles out of the garage; Lex needed to know if people were planning on recycling their water bottles; Daley's mind had almost shifted to survival mode by wondering if the water had been boiled yet, but then she quickly pushed it out of her head; and only Mel observed the stiff silence between the two.

Morgan tried with no luck to open her water bottle; she sighed and handed it to Jackson, who opened it in a moment. She laughed at her weak arms and he smiled. Maybe they would be okay after all.

Morgan stood there, explaining how she should really exercise so she can at least be able to open a water bottle as Jackson nodded accordingly. He felt such ease when he was with her—or was that all just a mask like with her pain? No, he concluded; they just understood each other. Or did they? He noticed the others looking at the two of them—greatly intrigued by their conversation; and, he had no doubt that Morgan saw it and turned on the charm, making the conversation so easy. This would be difficult.

The others, meanwhile, were waiting for Jackson to come and talk to them poolside, but he didn't come over. He reverted back to his default setting: outsider. A month of teamwork and integration did nothing for the years spent of isolation and the months spent being an outsider. And like then, he was an outsider with Morgan, who was now observing the swing set with excitement.

Morgan climbed on to the swing set, went down the slide, and swung around the pole until she sat on the swing. She gazed at Jackson before she invited, "Join me?" Instead, he walked around behind her and granted her with a continuous push. Morgan had gained enough height, he hopped into the swing next to her, guiding his feet and his arms to earn enough height.

Side by side, Jackson and Morgan swung next to each other at an equal pulse, smiling at the good memories the swing set triggered. Eventually, however, Jackson slowed himself to be able to talk to Morgan better, but she kept going higher and higher until she noticed Jackson slowing down.

With courage he said, "Morgan—"

But then she leaped fearlessly from her plastic swing, only a few feet forward because she started slowing down after she heard her name, and offered her hand to Jackson.

"Come on. We can't be loners forever," Morgan said to Jackson with an even tone. "Or at least _look_ like we are," she added under her breath.

Jackson and Morgan strode over to the gigantic pool to meet his fellow survivors; Taylor and Eric were lying in floatable chairs, trying to make the most of a sun's ending; Nathan, Melissa, and Daley swam about, splashing one another and having a pleasant time; and Lex sat half immersed in the water debating to continue or not. It was Lex who noticed them first. "Jackson! Hi, Morgan!" he added upon noticing her.

Nathan, Melissa, and Daley got out and proceeded to dry off. Taylor and Eric opened their eyes and shined their pearly whites. Jackson waved awkwardly.

"Well, look who finally had the courage to come and say hello," said Nathan teasingly, but not unkindly. "It's not like we survived a plane crash or anything," he said, laughing at his own joke. "Hi, Morgan," he added politely as Morgan nodded back. He stuck out his hand to shake Jackson. Jackson received his handshake and reciprocated while Daley and Morgan spoke.

"Sorry about that. I convinced him to go on the swing set with me; I haven't been on one in years," apologized Morgan.

"Yeah, really. You've been here for an hour before you come to hang," chirped Daley. "What gives?" she relaxed and smiled before giving Jackson a warm hug.

"Parties aren't really my thing," Jackson shrugged.

"That's just because you've never done it correctly," piped in Eric, who had gotten out of the pool and put a shirt since the meet-and-greet started. On his head was a different hat, but one similar to the one he wore on the island. "Trust me. Now that we are back in L.A., I am going to take you to the sickest parties. You will be so partied out you will wish you had never met me. And that goes for you to Morgan," he winked. Jackson's smile faltered a little at his last comment.

Taylor emerged from the pool, looking like a water goddess, and said, "Well that won't be too hard considering he _already_ wishes he had never met you," she glowed and bent over to hug Jackson. "Hi, Jackson! Hey, Morgan— Jackson's friend," remembering who she was to him and proud of herself for remembering.

"Kids, dinner," yelled one of the adults, and the kids went running except for Jackson, Melissa, Lex, and Morgan. Lex and Morgan walked side by side, having a conversation about God-knows what. Jackson and Melissa on the other hand… just beamed into each other's eyes.

"Hey," Jackson said, looking in her eyes for a second and then turning his head quickly.

"Hey," Melissa copied.

"Does this count as taking you to dinner?" he asked dryly as they started walking slowly toward the giant tents.

She laughed a little too loudly. "I don't think so—but it can if you like."

As the two walked, seemingly in the sunset, their hands, every few moments or so, would collide until finally they cupped into one another. Steadily their arms and legs swayed toward the buffet under the tarp. Each sat near one another and pulled chairs up to make a giant, overcrowded table. Morgan quietly sat near her relatives, making polite chit-chat with the others' families.

The once-seven strangers ate happily in harmony, enjoying and savoring the food's flavors. Almost as soon as the plates cleared the sun set quickly, leaving a fulfilled twilight atmosphere. Nathan and Daley began organizing a game of manhunt/capture-the-flag to everyone's delight, with each being a captain: Nathan's team derived of Melissa, Eric, and Morgan while Daley picked Lex, Jackson, and, begrudgingly, Taylor. In Daley's mind though, Taylor was better than Morgan, whom she thought of as strange and unsettling.

Nathan's team was to capture everyone first and put them in a secure location, that way no one could free the captives in the jail. Unsurprisingly, he assigned Morgan, a stranger, to keep guard while dividing and conquering the others to round up the captives. Nathan, serious as ever, wanted to follow a strict strategy to gain victory over the others.

After a ten-second head start, Daley's team raced to find sanctuary from the captors. Unfortunately for them, Lex couldn't run as fast as them and was easily caught by Nathan.

"One down, three to go," he smirked loudly.

From seemingly nowhere, Daley responded, "We'll see about that!"

Daley, having run off in different directions than Jackson and Taylor then met up in a secret location, turned to them. "We need to find Lex, get him out of their prison and hide him. That way we can win for sure." Jackson and Taylor nodded. "But we can only have one. I think it should be me," she nodded proudly.

Before Jackson could say his own opinion, Taylor interrupted. "And what? Make me and Jackson run around in circles so you can take all the credit? Um, no. Plus, you are not even the fastest one. We should go with Jackson: we know he is the fastest out of all of us, even Nathan's team, and he can cloak to the shadows like no other. We need to win," she hushedly shrieked.

Jackson arched his eyebrows at her. She responded, "I'm sorry. I like to win. And we can win with Daley's plan with my own modifications. I also like bragging rights," she casually stated at his awestruck face. "Now, where will we hide little Lexicon?" she asked thoughtfully.

Surprised with Taylor's motivation to win, Daley folded. "Alright, we will let Jackson take Lex somewhere. But no one should know where except you Jackson. Taylor and I will try and confuse the three of them. You need to make sure no one knows that you are going after Lex, so run with us, then disappear got it?" he nodded. "Good—any last questions?" Everyone shook their head no. "Okay, then. Let's get those bragging rights."

The trio emerged from behind the bush around the pool house, only spotted by the moonlight reflection in the pool, and parted separately. Fortunately, Melissa, Eric, and Nathan only saw Taylor and Daley move around in the bushes and went after them. Figuring that the jail was from where the others were coming from, Jackson swiftly ran in the opposite direction.

The McHugh residence was a lot larger than Jackson had anticipated, yet there was plenty of vegetation and wildlife that made it easy to hide in. Running around, he figured that it was probably an acre, which is huge for an L.A. property. The guidelines and boundaries had been extended to the three to four houses within the street (of course with the owner's permission being yes) with the exception of Nathan's back yard with the pool and the tent. Jackson ran quietly from house to house, determined not to be seen or caught by any of them. When he had searched every backyard, he concluded that the jail was in the most obvious place: the front yards.

The McHugh's front yard, was spacious, but had a shadowy and gloomy front porch with a rocking chair and a bench. Jackson approached from the back of the house very quietly, putting himself in a position or a blind spot, while understanding the "prison."

He stopped to catch his breath, waiting for a moment to strike and free Lex. Lex, however, seemed to be enjoying himself on the McHugh's front porch as he was laughing at something Morgan had presumably said. He knew he could probably get Lex out of there quickly, but something told him to stay and listen to what they could possibly be talking about.

He heard Lex speak first. "Can I ask you something Morgan?" Lex beamed.

"I believe you just did Lex, but feel free to ask anything else," she smirked back. A beat passed between the two of them.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Right now, I am thinking about what would happen if I were to lie down in the middle of the street, and look up at the stars," she said. He looked blankly at her. "The probability of being hit is small for the time being, since we are in residential area and in a gated community, but I wonder if it is a crime. Perhaps I could be sued for such act, and then countersue them, but I am not sure. But then I thought, it would be worth to see the stars; it really is a clear night and the street or the roof would have the best angle. Since I am unable to go on the roof without being noticed, the street would do better. This happened within my mind for a few milliseconds, mind you," she said looking at the night sky. She turned to him to stare at him. "Now ask me what you really want to ask me," she stated sincerely.


End file.
